"Oh, gods... what is that?" Brelyna Maryon asked with a tremor in her voice as she and her compatriots gazed upon the blackened wall of shadows that seemed to span the eastern mountain range off in the distance.
Onmund, normally an anxious sort, swallowed hard as his eyes adjusted to the shift in atmosphere. "I...is that it? The Doom Strider?" The tremble in his voice betrayed the welling doom in his heart.
"Whatever it is, J'zargo knows that we must stick to the plan!" the proud Khajiiti mage declared as he poured over the Barrier Spell again in its Tome. He outstretched his hands and began to cantate, and Brelyna and Onmund quickly joined him. The Legion Battlemages, stretched out, began to notice the violet light emanating from the distance; the consequence of their magic, and began to follow suit, each and all recognizing that now was the appointed time that they'd been waiting for.
The Doom Strider roared into the open sky; a sound of shrill steel, resembling the howl of a steam engine in distress cleaved through the skies like its own Thu'um; a terrible, dreadful din that caused mountains to shudder and bones to rattle. The magma that was contained within began to coat the mountains like running blood, casting its deep crimson glow onto the snow. With the shifting of its gears, one leg moved forward like a hydraulic press, stamping into the stone as it found its footing. Each step caused steam to rise, as the snow could not fathom this otherworldly horror that now tread upon its dusted cresses.
Delphine and the Skyguard stepped onto the walls of Windhelm, and gazed upon the formless monstrosity in the south; visible even from where they were. As the cold wind blew through her like a ghost, she exchanged a furtive glance with Esbern. "That's... that's got to be it."
"I'm afraid so." Esbern shuddered. "If Inigo and Cura can't stop it, then all that we've done will have been for nothing."
"Cura's no slouch." Ulfric remarked as he led his troops through the streets, war axe and shield in hand. "We've just gotta be there to back them up. Get in the fight."
The troops continued to head down the streets towards the docks, and Delphine placed a hand on Esbern's shoulder. "We've come this far, Esbern. Done the impossible and lived to tell. The gods don't favour cowards." She sighed as she stole another glance at the horizon. "And... for what it's worth, if this goes south and we all die, I'm glad we got to fight together."
Esbern nodded in agreement, "I second the notion. Gods guide our Blades, Delphine."
"Gods guide our Skyguard." Delphine said with an anxious sigh as she climbed down the palisade ladder to join the Stormcloaks, Legionnaires, Thalmor, and Skyguard, and Esbern quickly followed behind her, his hand firmly on his katana's pommel.
Lucien Flavius was putting the finishing touches on his greatest Soldier yet: the Stendarr's Dwarven Juggernaut, he'd called it. It was a massive hybrid construct, with touches modeled after Sorine's Enhanced Dwarven crossbow mechanics on its shoulders, enabling the massive metal beast to fire alternating Exploding bolts between Fire, Shock, and Frost. On its left arm, a large Tower Shield of Dwarven Steel and pure Aetherium reinforcements. On its right arm, it could alternate between a Sword, forged of Aetherium, and a Mace, forged of Dwarven Steel with Aetherium reinforcements on its flanges. On its chest was a door concealing the three Dwarven Centurion Cores, and etched upon the door was the Nordic Sigil of Stendarr: the War Horn. As well, like Dwarven Centurions, the Juggernaut was capable of spewing grand streams of steam, and, thanks to Lucien's machinations, Fire as well. Its legs could fold together and its lower half could be converted to a Carriage-like structure to transport troops into combat, and Lucien himself climbed onto its back, where he could peer over its head and steer it with the levers from behind.
"Marvelous. Simply marvelous!" Lucien clapped his hands together as he marveled at his creation. The Thieves had insisted on keeping true to the original Dwarven Constructs, but Lucien continued working on this by the side in between shifts. He reached into his satchel and chugged a Stamina Potion. "Ooh... I may need to brew a few more of these. I've gone through all of them for the past month or so."
Vex came hurrying down, "Lucien! There's no more time. We have to deploy them, now! All of them."
"All of them? We've sent the 60 already. Surely that should suffice?" Lucien wiped his hands on a cloth to clear the oil from his fingers.
"Is that supposed to be funny? Because I'm not laughing." Vex crossed her arms before turning her gaze to the Juggernaut. "Oh. This thing again."
"Stendarr's Dwarven Juggernaut, meet Vex. Vex, meet Stendarr's Dwarven Juggernaut." Lucien introduced the infiltrator to the unstoppable force.
"Nice to meet you." Vex responded with her signature sarcastic tune. "Look - finished or not, we need to send the last 20. There's a huge, horrifying scrap heap on top of the Velothi Mountains!"
Lucien sighed, "All right - tell Vipir and the others to load the carriage. I'll arrive on the front lines in style." He patted the side of his prized creation affectionately.
Vex nodded firmly and retreated into the shadows of the entrance to gather the other members of the Guild and to relay the message.
Serana and the Mages at the College of Winterhold felt the rumble of the Doom Strider's emergence from their precarious position on the narrow cliff of the College's Platform; a tremor that alarmed the landscape and prompted the Winterhold Guard to amass around the mountains facing southward. She flew to the top of the College's upper tower, and overlooked the landscape.
Her eyes widened with horror as she took in the harrowing sight of the Doom Strider - though miniscule from her vantage point, its influence over the skies; the darkness that accompanied the fiend, mingled with the crimson skies. She flew down from her scouting point, to gather Tolfdir and a select host of mages. She quickly turned to Tarvyn's group and the weaker Student mages. "If you see any Daedra; any at all, don't hesitate - blow the bridge."
At the top of High Hrothgar, the Greybeards themselves stood atop their sanctuary's courtyard and overlooked the desolation below them; the earth, stampeded and broken already from Mehrunes Dagon's prior onslaught, now facing another harrowing disaster from the East.
Arngeir, Einarth, Borri, and Einarth all exchanged knowing glances, and called out to the skies above.
"DOVAHKIIN!"
Their voices resounded like thunder over Skyrim as their urgent summons thrashed the skies. The harrowing sound carried far over the landscape, sweeping over the Major Cities and over the Jerall Mountains.
Cura and her allies at Stendarr's Beacon were shaken by the Thu'um, but no words were needed to be exchanged. Cura and Inigo exchanged a knowledgeable nod. The Dragonborn turned next to her other allies, "Who wants to meet the Greybeards?"
Sir Amiel, the stalwart Knight, stepped forward, a hand over his belt, "The Greybeards? Kynareth's Priests at the Throat of the World?"
"Hmm. T'was a legend even in my days." Gabrielle responded, scratching her chin.
Sabrina asked, "Who are the Greybeards, again?"
"The old monks who taught Cura how to use the Voice, silly!" Vilja responded with a humorous indignation. "If they called or her, it's probably important."
"Right. Because the Doom Strider isn't harrowing enough of a reason." Varla grunted in annoyance, crossing his arms.
Carcette turned to Cura and gave her a reassuring nod; "Don't worry about us, Cura - we'll be all right; go and speak to them."
Cura gathered her Group and performed a hasty Fast Travel to High Hrothgar, and entered the Sanctum. Her allies, unaccustomed to the location, save for Inigo and Vilja, stared on in awe as they walked through the Grand Echo Chamber. Traipsing through the stone halls, Cura pushed open the door leading out to the Courtyard, surmising that they could be nowhere else.
Arngeir and his compatriots stood on the bluffs facing eastward, their hooded frames darkened against the crimson skies. As soon as the group approached the quartet, Cura called out to them. "Arngeir! I'm here!"
"Dragonborn; there has been a great disturbance in the world." Arngeir responded, his hands folded into his long sleeves in front of him as a light snowfall dusted the area. "We are stepping into an unprecedented era of Snow and Ash." He seemed to be studying Cura and her new roster of allies, eyeing her new armour with fixed curiosity.
Inigo stood by Cura's side, and stepped forward. "The Doom Strider. That is what that ugly piece of mammoth turd over the mountains is."
"The Doom Strider?" Arngeir asked, "I know not this name; but what I can sense is that our world is on the cusp of a Revolution. And here in Skyrim - this is where it begins. Where all of the threads join; where the Past meets the Present, and where the Future's path splinters. We will do our best to hold this creature at bay, but your allied forces must do the rest. Dovahkiin..."
Cura lowered her head respectfully, "Yes, Arngeir?"
"Lok avok, Zul atum." Arngeir gazed into her eyes and placed a firm hand on her shoulder as he uttered these words before slowly releasing her and rejoining the other three. As the Doom Strider's shadow stretched across the southern horizon, the air at Ivarstead crackled with an otherworldly energy. High above, atop the revered peak of High Hrothgar, the Greybeards stood in solemn unity. Their voices rose, each word of their ancient Thu'um carrying the weight of centuries and the strength of their devotion to balance."Ko faan do Kaan, voth uld do Bormah, voth kun avok, nol lok do Vus, jaaril strunmah, jaaril fraad do Keizaalro Zoortah." The skies above the Jerall Mountains trembled, the reverberations of their Shouts resonating through the heavens. Slowly, the dim crimson hues of the apocalyptic skies gave way to a shimmering aurora, hues of gold, silver, and blue rippling like a celestial river, pushing the crimson aside like a fresh plunge of water to an oil spill. The barrier spread outward, its radiant light encircling the mountain range, glowing with a divine power that seemed to pulse in time with the ancient chants.
The Greybeards' Thu'um, resonant and harmonious, wove together, forming an unbreakable shield. The air became lighter, the oppressive weight of the Doom Strider's presence momentarily held at bay. From the vantage of Stendarr's Beacon, the Vigilants and the Dawnguard could see the aurora barrier gleaming in defiance of the encroaching darkness.
"By the Divines," whispered Vilja, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and hope. "They're protecting the mountain."
Inigo stared at the barrier, its brilliance reflecting in his wide eyes. "If this is their power to guard, imagine what we'll need to strike down that... thing," he said, gesturing toward the distant monstrosity.
Sabrina's eyes widened and she gazed upon Cura for an ephemeral second before looking upon the Greybeards again. "Er... what did they say?"
Cura closed her eyes and focused, and then translated, "In the name of Kyne, with the might of Akatosh, with the light above, from the skies of Nirn, protect the mountain, protect the hearth of Skyrim's Legacy." She felt a surge of both gratitude and responsibility. The Greybeards had offered them time, a chance to strategize and strengthen their forces. It was now up to her and her allies to ensure the Doom Strider never reached their hallowed ground.
The shimmering aurora danced across the peaks, a beacon of hope against the crimson sky. But the Doom Strider continued its inexorable advance, each step echoing a promise of ruin.
Author's Note: for this segment, "Berserk - Hundred Years War"
As the Doom Strider towered on the distant horizon, its immense form silhouetted against the crimson and aurora-streaked sky, a sound erupted that could only be described as pure violence. The shriek tore through the air, a cacophony of grinding metal, tortured screams, and thunderous roars—all fused into a singular cry of destruction. Stendarr's Beacon trembled as the piercing sound reached them, forcing the groups to shield their ears in agony.
The aurora barrier above the Jerall Mountains rippled faintly, holding strong, but the sheer force of the sound seemed to test its resilience. Even the dragons circling High Hrothgar faltered mid-flight, their ancient instincts recoiling against the unholy sound.
The Doom Strider raised its massive head to the heavens, its magma-spewing maw glowing brighter, pulsating with fiery energy. A deafening hum reverberated as it fired into the crimson sky—a pillar of molten energy that seemed to crack the atmosphere itself. Moments later, the skies darkened further, and the first streaks of fiery meteors began their descent.
The Meteor Rain was a terrifying spectacle, a storm of celestial devastation summoned by the Doom Strider's power. Massive, flaming rocks hurtled toward the land below, carving trails of fire across the heavens. The ground shuddered as the meteors struck, each impact sending shockwaves rippling outward, flames and debris exploding into the air. Even from the distance of the Beacon, the group could feel the tremors in their bones.
Inigo gripped Cura's hand tightly, his tail thrashing nervously behind him. "What kind of monster wields this kind of power?" he rasped, his voice barely audible above the roaring meteors.
Cura's gaze remained fixed on the Doom Strider, her prosthetic hand clasped firmly around Inigo's. Her voice was steady but filled with grim determination. "One that we were meant to face."
The first meteors struck like vengeful hammers from the heavens, their fiery trails painting streaks of death across the crimson-streaked sky. The Riften Woodlands, lush and vibrant mere moments ago, became a battlefield of chaos as the burning projectiles carved through the trees with devastating precision.
Towering pines were reduced to splinters and ash upon impact, their crackling flames spreading hungrily across the undergrowth. The air, once crisp and earthy, was choked with acrid smoke and the stench of scorched wood. Animals fled in droves, their panicked cries swallowed by the deafening thunder of meteor strikes.
One after another, the meteors pummeled the land, leaving behind smoking craters and fissures that oozed with molten rock. Streams and rivers in the woodlands hissed violently as they evaporated under the heat, turning into plumes of scalding steam that further clouded the desolate landscape.
The Doom Strider's March began with a thunderous symphony of destruction. Every step it took shook the earth beneath, sending tremors rippling outward and leaving molten footprints that turned the ground to fire. The jagged blackened metal of its massive body gleamed in the chaotic light of the crimson sky, and its unholy roar echoed like the sound of Tamriel breaking.
Arrayed before it were the combined forces of Skyrim and beyond - an alliance forged out of desperation and necessity. The Legion, with their disciplined ranks, the Stormcloaks, fiercely determined to protect their homeland, the Thalmor, uneasy in their alliance but resolute in their desire to prevail, and the Dwemer constructs, marching in unison, their mechanical forms shining like relics of a forgotten age.
For the first time in centuries, old grudges were set aside as the battlefield became a cacophony of clashing ideals and unity. Legate Rikke commanded the Legion forces with precision from the back, her voice sharp above the chaos. Ulfric Stormcloak, standing alongside Ralof and Galmar, rallied the Stormcloak warriors with cries of defiance. The Thalmor, led by Elenwen and Consulate Zephyrion, moved with calculated efficiency, their magic lacing the air as they fought to contain the oncoming destruction. The Dwemer constructs, conjured by Lucien's brilliance, provided a fleeting hope with their impenetrable armor and deadly precision.
The combined forces launched a desperate assault against the Doom Strider, arrows and spells flying, Dwemer machines unleashing beams of concentrated energy. The air was filled with the sound of war - shouts, clashes, and the distant rumble of meteors falling from the corrupted sky. For a moment, it seemed as though the colossus could be slowed.
But the Doom Strider was relentless. Its fiery maw spewed molten magma, wiping out battalions of soldiers in seconds. Its lasers leveled the lesser mountains, and its steps shattered the earth itself, creating fissures that swallowed the brave fighters whole. For every strike the alliance landed, the Doom Strider retaliated tenfold, carving through their forces like a god of destruction.
The aurora shield held steady above the Jerall Mountains, but cracks began to show in the lands surrounding the Velothi range. Flames scorched the earth, smoke rose in pillars, and Tamriel trembled as the Doom Strider began its relentless march toward the world's end.
Cura, watching the battle unfold with her companions from the heights of the Mountain, felt the weight of the world pressing down on her. She clenched her Mace tightly, her Dwemer prosthetic hand glinting faintly in the chaotic light. Inigo, standing at her side, stared at the beast with wide eyes, his grip on the Ring of Stendarr's Mercy trembling. "This isn't a battle - it's an apocalypse," he muttered.
Despite the staggering loss of life and the overwhelming futility, the alliance refused to surrender. They fought with everything they had, every ounce of courage and strength, knowing that the Doom Strider's advance could mean the end of Tamriel itself. The battlefield became a sea of flames and ruin, but amidst the devastation, their unity was a fleeting glimmer of hope.
Yet hope alone could not stop the colossus. The Doom Strider roared once more, its sound a chilling promise that it would not be halted - not by mortals, nor by constructs, nor by the united forces of Skyrim.
Amid the thunderous battlefield and the relentless march of the Doom Strider, Cura strode to a vantage point of the cliff. Her voice, commanding yet reverent, echoed across the mountain air as she called to her allies—the ancient dragons who had sworn loyalty to her cause.
"OD AH VIING!"
"PAAR THUR NAX!"
"DUR NEH VIIR!"
"KAH KAAN KREIN!"
"VOS LAA RUM!"
"NAAS LAA RUM!"
Her cries reverberated with strength born of her destiny, each name carrying the weight of ancient oaths and shared purpose.
Moments passed, filled only by the distant roars of the Doom Strider and the panicked cries of soldiers below. Then, the skies began to shift. From the crimson horizon came shadows, vast wings cutting through the oppressive clouds. One by one, the dragons descended, their immense forms a symphony of power and majesty.
Paarthurnax, his wise gaze steady, landed beside Cura, the ground trembling with his weight. The ancient dragon spoke in a rumbling tone, "Dovahkiin, your call has been heard. We stand with you against this evil."
Odahviing circled once overhead before landing gracefully, his proud demeanor unshaken even in the face of the Doom Strider's overwhelming presence. "Let us show this abomination the true power of the dov," he declared, his voice filled with fiery determination.
Durnehviir, the spectral dragon from the Soul Cairn, emerged from the shadows like a specter of defiance, his form flickering with ethereal light. Voslaarum and Naaslaarum followed, their synchronized movements a testament to their unbreakable bond.
Cura turned to her companions, her Dwemer prosthetic gleaming faintly as she extended a hand to Inigo. "This is our fight - our chance to stand against the darkness. Together, we will prevail."
She mounted Paarthurnax with practiced ease, his scales warm and familiar beneath her touch. Inigo climbed onto Odahviing, his nervous humour absent as he steeled himself for what lay ahead. "Well," he murmured, "no one ever told me I'd ride a dragon into battle."
Vilja, awe-struck but resolute, mounted Voslaarum, her courage shining brightly in her eyes. She smiled aside to Inigo, "Nevermind riding a Dragon - our friend here has been collecting them without telling us."
Sir Amiel and Sabrina paired with Naaslaarum, their shared faith in Cura's lead steadying their hands. Gabrielle and Varla mounted Durnehviir, their bond of divine strength and mortal tenacity forming a powerful partnership.
As the dragons took flight, the battlefield below erupted with cries of wonder and renewed hope. The sight of these legendary creatures soaring above - a testament to the unity of mortal and immortal forces - was enough to momentarily still even the Doom Strider's oppressive presence.
From the skies, Cura raised her voice again. "To the skies, my allies! To battle!"
The dragons roared in unison, their voices shaking the heavens themselves. The air filled with the rush of wings, the battle cry of the dovah, and the determined hearts of those who refused to surrender.
The battlefield below was chaos incarnate, a sea of smoke, fire, and desperate warriors locked in a futile struggle against the Doom Strider's advance. The combined forces of the Legion, Stormcloaks, Thalmor, and Dwemer constructs fought valiantly, but their efforts barely slowed the colossus. The Doom Strider towered over the shattered land, an embodiment of ruin, unrelenting in its march.
From the skies, a roar unlike any the battlefield had heard tore through the air - a thunderous, commanding cry that heralded Cura's arrival. The dragons descended as a united force, their immense forms gliding through the smoky skies with effortless precision. Paarthurnax led the charge, his ancient wisdom guiding the evasive maneuvers of the others as they dodged falling meteors and unleashed devastating Shouts upon the Mechanical Colossus.
Each dragon was a blur of power and agility, weaving through the chaos with practiced grace. Odahviing dove through the air, his fiery breath scorching the ground and leaving trails of molten destruction. Durnehviir glided spectrally, his Thu'um summoning spectral minions to fight alongside the allied forces. Voslaarum and Naaslaarum moved in tandem, their frost breath freezing the fires left behind by the meteors, while Kahkaankrein unleashed a deafening Shout that destabilized the Doom Strider's fiery core, if only for moments
Cura, mounted atop Paarthurnax, was a vision of defiance and authority, her mace held high. Paarthurnax descended with calculated grace, landing near the allied factions, his presence commanding even in the chaos. Cura dismounted swiftly, her steps purposeful as she stormed toward the leaders of the combined forces. Inigo, perched atop Odahviing, followed suit, his expression resolute despite the storm of fear that raged within him.
The reactions of Ulfric and Elenwen were as striking as the dragons' arrival. Ulfric's hardened gaze softened briefly in awe, his pride evident as he took in Cura's commanding presence. "Stormcloak blood does not falter," he murmured, loud enough for Galmar and Ralof to hear. He stepped forward, his voice booming. "Cura! Skyrim's greatest has come to lead us."
Elenwen, by contrast, froze. The sight of Cura atop Paarthurnax, leading dragons and companions alike, struck fear and fascination into the Thalmor leader's heart. Her carefully constructed demeanor faltered, her mask slipping just enough for uncertainty to flicker in her eyes. She stepped forward hesitantly, her voice sharp but tinged with disbelief. "You've always had a flair for the dramatic, haven't you?"
Standing at the frontlines, Cura faced the assembled leaders: Ulfric Stormcloak, his prideful gaze fixed on his daughter; Elenwen, her expression guarded as she grappled with the enormity of the moment; and Legate Rikke, her steely resolve tempered by exhaustion. The soldiers murmured among themselves, unsure what would come next.
The dragons encircled her in the skies, roaring as if to announce her presence to every soul who dared to hope. She dismounted swiftly, the sound of her boots striking the ground cutting through the chaos like a clarion call. Cura raised her voice, a tone that carried the weight of her endless struggles and the fire of her indomitable spirit. "You stand here today not as Legionnaires, Stormcloaks, or Thalmor - but as defenders of Nirn itself!" She took a step forward, the dragons above roaring in unison. "The Doom Strider marches to destroy all we hold dear. It cares not for our banners, our politics, or our grudges. It is a force of ruin, and unless we stand together, it will consume Tamriel - and there will be nothing left for our children, nothing left for the Divines themselves to protect."
She turned to the leaders, her gaze piercing. "You are not just commanders today. You are the stewards of hope, the champions of unity. Lead your soldiers with courage, and they will rise beyond their limits."
Finally, Cura's voice rose louder, fueled by the dragons' roaring cries. "Today, we fight not for any single kingdom or creed - we fight for all of Nirn! We fight to ensure there will be a tomorrow! Now stand! Stand and fight as one!"
The soldiers erupted into cheers, their morale rekindled by her words. Even Ulfric and Elenwen, though bound by secrecy over their connection to Cura, could not hide the pride and resolve that burned in their eyes. Legate Rikke raised her sword high, rallying her Legionnaires, while the dragons took to the skies again, their fiery Thu'um clearing paths for the soldiers to advance.
As the armies surged forward with renewed vigor, Cura mounted Paarthurnax once more, soaring into the heavens with her companions and dragons to lead the charge against the colossus. The battle was far from won, but hope burned brighter than ever before. The battlefield buzzed with mounting tension as reinforcements began to arrive, their banners snapping in the acrid wind, their war cries cutting through the deafening noise of battle. Cura, standing resolute amidst the chaos, turned to see the new forces descending upon the scene.
From the north came the College of Winterhold, led by Arch-Mage Tolfdir, his staff glowing faintly as he commanded his mages. Beside him walked Serana, her cloak billowing behind her, her gaze fierce and her magic crackling at her fingertips. When her eyes fell upon Cura, she froze for a moment, disbelief and elation washing over her. She broke into a swift stride toward Cura, cutting past the small host of soldiers, her expression softening.
"You… you're alive!" Serana exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion. "I thought we'd lost you forever. Cura, I -" she faltered, her composure breaking.
Cura stepped forward, gripping Serana's arm firmly, her verdant eyes steady. "Not even Coldharbour could keep me away," she said, her tone a mixture of warmth and determination. "I couldn't leave Tamriel behind - not when so much is at stake."
Serana smiled through her tears, steadying herself and wiping the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand. "Then let's finish this together."
Tolfdir nodded approvingly, stepping forward. "Cura, you've returned at the hour we need you most. We're here to stand with you - let's show this Doom Strider what magic is truly capable of."
From the south, Keeper Thorondir marched at the head of the Vigilants of Stendarr, his armor gleaming in the flickering firelight. The zealous protectors, including Gwyneth, Raelynne Belette, and Bazur, stood ready, their divine resolve shining in their eyes.
Thorondir raised his hammer to the sky, his voice loud and commanding. "For Stendarr! For Tamriel! We will not falter in the face of this darkness!" His rallying cry was met with shouts of agreement from the Vigilants.
Isran and the Dawnguard, with their crossbows gleaming and their battle-ready formations, joined alongside the Vigilants. Agmaer, Florentius Baenius, and Sorine Jurard moved with precision, their weapons trained on the distant Doom Strider.
Isran's voice rang out, cutting through the noise. "There's no running from this fight - we stand, or Tamriel falls. Dawnguard, hold your lines. Together, we'll drive this beast back to the depths where it belongs!"
From the east came Jarl Laila Law-Giver at the head of Riften's forces, flanked by banners bearing the Rift's symbol. Her voice was firm and commanding as she approached the allied leaders, her warriors battle-ready.
"We bring the strength of the Rift! Skyrim's heart beats loud and strong!" She nodded at Ulfric, her alliance with him unshakeable. "Stormcloaks and Riftmen fight as one today."
Joining her were Skald the Elder and the forces of Dawnstar, fierce and relentless despite their smaller numbers, and Jarl Korir leading Winterhold's warriors, their determination unwavering.
Skald, gruff and bristling, raised his axe and bellowed. "We are Skyrim! This Doom Strider has no right to set foot on our land!"
Korir gave a quiet nod to Tolfdir, a rare moment of solidarity between Winterhold's Jarl and the College's Arch-Mage. "Winterhold fights not only for the future of Skyrim but for the bonds we must forge anew."
As the Doom Strider continued its devastating march, Isran stepped forward alongside the Dawnguard's engineers, their expertise brought to bear in a last-ditch effort to stall the colossus. They had prepared a cache of Explosive Bolts, fitted with volatile alchemical mixtures designed to ignite and fracture the lands beneath the Doom Strider's steps.
Isran addressed the allied leaders, his voice sharp and resolute. "The Dawnguard will hold the front line. These bolts won't stop that monstrosity, but they can disrupt its footing and slow its advance - at least long enough for your aerial forces to strike."
Cura nodded, "It's coming from the upper cliffs - if we can make its footing awkward, we can hinder its descent."
"You've got it, kid." Isran said with a firm not. "Let us handle that part; if this Doom Strider thinks it's got the leg up over us because of its size, it's got another think coming."
Gunmar and Sorine Jurard, working swiftly, deployed modified crossbow stations at strategic points. Their bolts would carve fiery fissures into the land, redirecting the Doom Strider's path toward terrain already weakened by their attacks, aiming to collapse parts of the battlefield under its weight. Soldiers from across the allied factions aided in positioning these vital stations.
Cura rallied her dragon allies, standing tall beside Paarthurnax as she explained the aerial strategy to her companions. "The skies are our battlefield now. Paarthurnax, Odahviing, and the others will target the Doom Strider's vital points - its head, its core, and its legs. Every Thu'um, every strike must hit with precision."
She turned to Inigo, who mounted Odahviing once more, his fur bristling with nervous energy. Cura offered him a reassuring glance. "Stay close to me," she said firmly. "Together, we'll strike where it hurts most."
The aerial assault was designed to force the Doom Strider into disarray - dragons swooping in from all sides, dodging magma bursts and lasers while coordinating powerful Thu'um attacks to destabilize its molten core. The alliance would use the chaos created by this bombardment to regroup and counterattack on the ground. Thus, was Cura's proposal.
As the plans took shape, the Volkihar alliance, led by Vingalmo, joined the battle. No longer vampires, they had retained their combat expertise and sharp tactical minds. Vingalmo's entrance was understated but decisive as he stepped forward to join the war council convened by Cura.
Serana's eyes widened in shock to see her father's former Courtiers back in the living world, but she could discern that they were no longer Vampires, much to her confusion.
The leaders - Galmar, Legate Rikke, Keeper Thorondir, Inigo, Varla, and Consulate Zephyrion - gathered at the edge of the battlefield to finalize their strategy. Vingalmo spoke calmly, his experience evident in every word. "The Doom Strider cannot be fought like a mortal army. Its strength is overwhelming, but its form is rigid - predictable. We must exploit its lack of maneuverability."
Thorondir nodded, his face grim but resolute. "The Vigilants will support your explosive efforts. We'll imbue the bolts with divine blessings to strengthen their power against Daedric corruption."
Legate Rikke, ever the strategist, leaned forward. "The Legionnaires will bolster the lines on either flank. If we concentrate enough firepower on its legs, it may stumble long enough for the aerial forces to strike."
Zephyrion's icy demeanor showed a hint of interest as he interjected. "The Thalmor's magic will target its molten core directly, disrupting the flow of energy that sustains its attacks. I will lead those efforts personally."
Varla, his divine presence calming the group, stepped forward alongside Inigo. "Our faith in the Gods will hold us steady. Let's not forget what we fight for - not just survival, but a future worth living for."
"Coming from him, of all people." Sabrina remarked, her voice tinged with deep surprise.
Gabrielle nodded slowly, and rested a hand on the pommel of her sword. "Lo, Varla is right; if, they are watching over us, they will guide us hitherto victory. I hope."
As the allied factions prepared for the tactical assault, a new wave of reinforcements arrived from Whiterun. At the forefront were Kodlak Whitemane and the Companions—Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela the Huntress—each bearing the unmistakable strength and resolve of their storied group. Their banner, emblazoned with the emblem of the Harbinger, snapped sharply in the wind as they approached the war council convened by Cura and her allies.
Vilkas, however, broke formation the moment his eyes fell upon Cura. His steps faltered, his chest heaving as a storm of emotions overtook him - relief, disbelief, and a painful twinge of guilt. He hurried forward, his usually composed demeanor crumbling as he stopped just short of her. His voice, strained but sincere, broke through the charged air. "Cura... it's really you. I thought..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Cura turned to him, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of her old companion. "Vilkas," she said quietly, a hint of warmth breaking through her commanding tone. "I've returned - and we still have time to make things right. This Doom Strider will not last."
His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, the proud warrior looked lost. "I wasn't there for you when it mattered most. I -" he clenched his fists, his voice trembling. "I should have fought by your side. Maybe then..." He stopped himself, his guilt weighing heavily. "Maybe you wouldn't have lost your arm to Alduin... maybe you wouldn't have died to the Mythic Dawn..."
Cura stepped closer, placing her Dwemer prosthetic hand on his shoulder. "What happened before is done. What matters now is what we do together - here, now. Stand with us, Vilkas. We will face this darkness, and we will prevail."
Vilkas met her eyes, his resolve reigniting. He nodded firmly, though his voice was still low. "I won't let you down."
Behind him, Kodlak approached, his face calm but thoughtful as he placed a reassuring hand on Vilkas' arm. "There's no room for regrets today, Vilkas. We fight with all we have, as the Companions always do." He turned to Cura with a respectful nod. "Shield-Sister, we're with you - and we'll make sure these forces are ready."
Farkas and Aela stood just behind, their weapons drawn and eyes fierce. Aela grinned faintly, her Huntress pride evident. "Dragons, daedra, and doom itself - it's about time someone challenged us properly."
Farkas chuckled, clutching his sword tightly, "Let me at this Doom Strider. I'll give it a second mouth."
As the war council huddled together amidst the chaos of the battlefield, the allied leaders - including Galmar, Rikke, Keeper Thorondir, Kodlak, Vingalmo, Zephyrion, and Varla - stood in tight formation, plotting their strategy against the Doom Strider's relentless advance. Cura, at the center, commanded their attention, her words steady and purposeful as she outlined the next steps.
Suddenly, a sharp voice rose above the din. "Make way!" It was Delphine, her presence unmistakable as she shoved through the throng of allied soldiers surrounding the council. Her movements were swift and unyielding, her armor scraping against shields and blades as she forced her way closer. Soldiers parted hurriedly at her approach, her fiery determination enough to clear her path.
When Delphine finally reached Cura, she exhaled sharply, brushing ash and blood from her gauntlets. "Apologies for the dramatic entrance," she said, her tone dry but urgent. "This council needs a Blade - and the Skyguard is ready to back your play."
Cura glanced at Delphine, a flicker of gratitude in her otherwise composed expression. "Your timing couldn't be better," she said. "We need reinforcements to hold the flanks and secure our forward push. The Skyguard will be critical."
Delphine nodded curtly, her sharp eyes darting to the tactical map before the council. "Understood. What are we hitting first?"
Esbern, who had followed closely behind Delphine, adjusted his staff as he spoke. "The Skyguard will bolster Cura's allies - Vilja, Gabrielle, Varla, Sir Amiel, Sir Henrik, and Sir Ralvas—providing reinforcement at the most critical points. We'll ensure no one gets overwhelmed by the Doom Strider's forces."
Delphine gripped the hilt of her sword, her gaze steady as she looked at Cura. "We'll hold our ground and cover your allies so you can focus on the aerial assault. Just make sure you hit that monstrosity where it hurts."
Inigo, standing nearby, smirked faintly despite the tension. "If Delphine's charging in like this, I almost feel sorry for the Doom Strider."
From the foray of Vigilants that had accompanied Thorondir, a smaller pocket host emerged. At their forefront was Carcette, her commanding presence radiating authority, flanked closely by Vigilant Tolan, his steel warhammer resting heavily against his shoulder, and Brother Adalvald, the architect of many plans from their days at the Hall of the Vigilant.
As they drew closer, Cura turned, her breath catching at the sight of the figures who had shaped her earliest years. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to fade, leaving only the echoes of memories: the warmth of their guidance, the firm discipline they instilled, and the unshakable belief in her destiny.
Carcette was the first to approach, her expression both stern and soft. "Cura," she said, her voice steady but carrying an unspoken pride. "You're going to get far; let us help give you that extra push."
Cura stepped forward, her prosthetic hand rising to clasp Carcette's arm. "You raised me to stand against the darkness," she said, her tone resolute. "Now we stand together."
Tolan chuckled warmly, his rough voice breaking through the tension as he addressed the lesser Vigilants surrounding them. "The child we swore to protect is now our greatest ally. Stendarr's work is truly wondrous."
Adalvald inclined his head, his quiet reverence shining in his eyes. "The world trembles before us, and yet we stand as one. It is an honour, Cura."
The brief moment of reunion was shattered by the distant roar of the Doom Strider. Carcette's gaze hardened as she turned back to the council. "We have no time to lose. The Vigilants are here to aid the cause - but we must ensure the northern expanse is protected. If that abomination heads toward Windhelm or Winterhold, we'll be fighting for nothing. It may fall in the Pale's Potholes - or it may find a way around them and carve a clear path of destruction through the entire province." As she joined the war council, she took a position beside Keeper Thorondir and Keeper Ciirta, unfurling a Map of Skyrim. With a finger's trace, she immediately began to map out a defensive strategy, centered around her recollections from texts she'd read at Jyggalag's library. "The southern barrier at the Jerall Mountains and Throat of the World holds strong thanks to the Greybeards, but the northern expanse is wide open. We need to create a line to stop its advance north - keep it from heading toward Skyrim's heartlands."
Delphine, standing nearby with arms crossed, interjected with her usual bluntness. "And divide our forces even further? Blocking the north would leave our troops vulnerable on the front. That's a death sentence."
Carcette's eyes narrowed as she turned to Delphine. "If the Doom Strider reaches Windhelm, it's not just one city - it's the entire region. And if Winterhold falls, the College will have no hope of coordinating the mages' defense. This isn't about dividing forces - it's about ensuring Skyrim survives."
Delphine stepped closer, her voice sharp. "We're already stretched thin, fighting on all sides. You suggest moving soldiers we barely have? We need strength on the battlefield- not chasing shadows in the north!"
Cura raised her hand firmly, her voice cutting through their disagreement. "Enough. Both of you are right, but we need balance. Keeper - your concern for the north is valid, and we'll assign a defensive force to hold that line. Delphine, you'll coordinate with the Skyguard to ensure we don't lose strength on the battlefield."
The tension between the two women lingered for a moment longer, but Cura's decisive tone left no room for argument. Carcette nodded curtly, stepping back. "Very well. I'll leave the details to you, Cura."
Delphine's smirk was faint but grudgingly respectful. "Looks like you've got this handled, Dragonborn."
Under Carcette's guidance and isran's cooperation, a contingent of Dawnguard crossbowmen, Vigilants, and Winterhold mages was assigned to the northern expanse. Brother Adalvald and Vigilant Tolan took leadership of this group, fortifying key positions and creating traps to slow any forces that might try to breach the line. Their efforts would give the allied factions the time they needed to focus their assault on the Doom Strider.
As the Doom Strider roared, its unholy cry splitting the heavens, all eyes turned to Cura, standing tall amidst the chaos. She could feel the weight of every soul on the battlefield pressing against her shoulders - the hope, the fear, the desperate belief that she alone could lead them to victory.
She turned to the war council, her voice calm but commanding, cutting through the din of battle like the edge of a blade. "Our forces hold strong, but the true test is just beginning. We stand as one - or we fall together. Every life here matters. Fight not just for your banners, but for Tamriel's future. The enemy comes for all of us, and today we show them what it means to defy Oblivion!"
Her words sent a ripple through the gathered soldiers, their heads lifting, their grips tightening on weapons. Even Ulfric, Elenwen, and Rikke exchanged silent looks of agreement, unified by her rally. This moment was hers, and the battlefield was ready to answer her call.
From the yawning portal behind the Doom Strider, the Daedric Legion began to pour forth in terrifying waves. The armored forms of Dremora, their jagged weapons glinting with hellish fire, marched forward with ruthless precision. Clannfears leapt and scurried across the field, their spiked tails lashing wildly. Spider Daedra, grotesque hybrids of woman and spider, scuttled toward the allied forces, their venomous fangs glinting in the light of battle. Swarms of fiery Imps darted through the air, spreading panic and destruction with their infernal magic.
The ground shook as the Daedric forces surged, threatening to overwhelm the defensive lines. Cura's calm gaze swept the battlefield. "Hold your positions! Dawnguard - focus on the Clannfears and Imps. Mages, target the Spider Daedras! Keep the skies clear for the dragons!"
The allied forces surged into action, their efforts coordinated under Cura's decisive command. But it was clear the Daedric horde would require more than steel and fire to turn the tide.
The sound of grinding gears and heavy footsteps echoed across the battlefield, growing louder with each moment. Then, through the haze of battle, Stendarr's Dwarven Juggernaut came into view. Lucien Flavius, perched atop the mechanical colossus, stood with an air of determination, his hands deftly maneuvering the levers that guided the construct.
The Juggernaut, a towering marvel of Dwemer engineering, lumbered forward with purpose. Its massive form gleamed with Aetherium reinforcements, its weapons shifting with ominous precision. It unleashed alternating volleys of Exploding Bolts - fire, frost, and shock - that tore through the ranks of advancing Dremora. On its left arm, the Tower Shield of Dwarven Steel braced against the onslaught, deflecting fireballs and strikes from the enemy forces. The right arm alternated seamlessly between the Aetherium-forged Sword and the Mace of Dwarven Steel, each swing obliterating foes in its path.
Behind the Juggernaut, a host of 20 Dwemer constructs followed in perfect formation. Centurions unleashed devastating steam blasts, clearing the battlefield ahead. Dwarven Ballistae launched long, sharp javelins which penetrated even the Dremoras' Daedric Mail armour. Dwarven Spheres darted nimbly through enemy lines, targeting weaker units with precision strikes. Dwarven Spiders scuttled ahead, using their agility to flank enemies and disrupt their formations.
Lucien raised his voice from atop the Juggernaut, his words reaching Cura and her forces. "The Dawnguard stall the Doom Strider; the dragons dominate the skies; the Vigilants block the north - but let the Dwemer remind the Daedra why their kind once trembled before us!"
Cura laughed aloud with delight as she saw the incredulous mechanism roar across the field. Vilja merely crossed her arms, "Show off."
The allied forces cheered at the sight of the colossal Juggernaut and its mechanical army. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, the tides of battle shifted. Cura's voice rose again. "Lucien, cover the left flank! Centurions - support the Skyguard's push! The rest, follow my lead!" She watched as Paarthurnax descended onto a clearing surrounded by Daedra.
With Cura leading the charge, her forces moved with newfound vigor. Vilja, Gabrielle, and the Knights surged forward with support from the Skyguard, their attacks precise and devastating. The Juggernaut, a moving fortress of destruction, carved through the Daedric Legion while Lucien's Dwemer constructs supported the defensive lines.
Above, the dragons rained fire and frost down on the Doom Strider, shaking its unholy frame. Cura, astride Paarthurnax once again, took to the skies as her allies pushed onward below, her leadership uniting the battlefield into a symphony of resilience and strength.